Homemade Tuna
by Maiden of the Moon
Summary: Gir makes Zim a present. [No, it's not really tuna.] ZimxGir fluff.


_**Disclaimer:** Yes. Yes, I do. (Yeah, right.)_

_**Author's Note:** Yea! ZimxGir!_

_Anyway, this one was inspired by_ Bad Bad Rubber Piggy_—there's a shot in there when Robot Dib is destroying the house and on a table he blows up is a picture of "human" Zim and "dog" Gir with a big heart around 'em. Just wondering where THAT came from. . . heehee. XD_

_**Warnings:** ZimxGir, fluff, my first horrible attempt at writing dialogue for Gir. (Ack! SO BAD!)_

**XXX **

Homemade Tuna

XXX

The short Irken soldier stared dully at his robot companion for a moment as long as. . . a very long thing. . . silently contemplating what on Irk was going through that "dog's" mechanical mind _this_ time. Perhaps another screw had come loose. . . Zim groaned deeply at the thought before taking a marginally steady breath (swallowing his snippy remarks), and blankly asking:

"Gir. . . what is **THIS**?"

He held up the flat _thing_ the hyperactive SIR unit had just shoved into his gut, an eyebrow quirked in annoyance.

Gir grinned wildly in response, paste and construction paper smearing his titanium shell. "ITSA LOVE!" he squealed, flapping his little silver arms. Glue flew everywhere. "FOR MAH SAD, CRAZE-EH MASTAH! Heehee. . . like hot dogs. . ."

Hot. . . dogs. . . ? Zim felt a snarl wedge itself in his throat, a glower on his face as he waved the picture wildly. "WHAT? _What madness do you speak of now, Gir?_ **IRKENS NEED NO LOVE**!"

The insane robot child shook his head furiously at this declaration, chewing on a sticker sheet. More glue was added for flavor. "Yessssss they _dooooooooooooo_. . ." he insisted cheerfully, flourishing a 'reprimanding' finger. "The piggy told me so! PIGGYYYYYYYY!"

The irritated alien rolled his eyes, fingers clenching the sticky wooden frame that he used to bat away the rubber pig now pressed to his face. "I'm not even going to TRY to debate that. . ."

Gir squealed, throwing glitter into the air in some strange form of agreement; it settled in clouds on the carpet and their pathetic disguises. "I'nit pretty?" he inquired ecstatically, grabbing his own feet. "_I'NIT PRETTY_. . . ?"

There was a brief pause for Zim's answer (which never came). Then, blue eyes flashing, Gir 'sealed the deal' by whispering (quite seriously): "_I made it from tuna_. . ."

He couldn't take it anymore. "Gir," the alien cut in tiredly, "you cut out our pictures and stuck them to wrapping paper. **PINK AND RED PAPER OF FILTY LUUUUUV-SMELLY DOOM**." Paper full of hearts, it should be added. _Red and pink hearts_. Zim cringed at the disgusting use of poorly shaped organs.

But Gir was nowhere near phased. "WEEEHEEHEHEEEE!" the robot sang, launching himself at Zim's neck and latching on without warning—a tacky parasite. "YOU LIKE THE TUNA, YOU LIKE THE TUNA! YEA, MASTER!" Giggling, Gir tightened his tiny arms around the struggling Invader's top ("_ERAAAARGH_—**GIR**! **_GETOFF_**! _GETOFF OF ZIIIIIIIIIM_—!")—

Before enthusiastically pressing his metal lips to Zim's cheek in a loud, sloppy kiss.

". . ." The alien froze, utterly baffled.

And, of course, Gir just beamed. "_Heeheehee_," the malfunctioning SIR laughed, "Master needed a huggy piggy pretty present to makes him _LOVE_!" He wildly kicked his dangling, tube-like legs, cheering. "Everybody needs love, Master! _Master gots GIR!_ **_TUUUUUNAAAAAAAAAAA_**!"

Eyetwitch.

"RRRAA_AAAAAAAGIIIIII_**IIIIIIIII_IIRRRRRRR_**!" Zim screamed, furious beyond all belief. Green skin suddenly pinker, the Irken managed to claw the robot off of his head—flinging him across the hall. There was a loud clatter of metal on metal. . . "ZIM NEEDS NO LOVE! _ZIM NEEDS NO ONE_!"

From within the kitchen came a frantic titter. "_YEA_! _NO ONE_! I like being no one!**_ I LIKE TUNA WAFFLES_**!"

The lifeless expression returned in a hurry. ". . . _Stupid robot_," the Invader finally snarled, cursing savagely under his breath. "Just **ONCE** I'd like to see him—!" He moved sharply, about to toss the photo away—

Before pausing, glancing down into the picture's homemade depths.

". . ."

He looked to the left.

". . ."

He looked to the right.

". . ."

Then he set it carefully on the side table, nonchalantly walking away.

**XXX**


End file.
